Indian Mom Slow Dances with Her Son

Swati Biswas had turned 49 earlier in the month. It was a quiet sort of birthday with no big celebrations. Her only close friend in the city had booked a dinner at a restaurant. They had enjoyed the fine dining experience with drinks plenty, both being self-deprecatory and wistful about how time had flown by, and how they were nearing half a century: the big 50 when the end was nearer than the start.

She was an average height (5' 5") plump woman, and didn't mind what she looked like. Age brings with it with a kind of acceptance of all the flaws and lines on the face, the sagginess of things. She had an attractive wheatish complexion and age had lent to her a smokiness around her eyes that men found alluring.

Swati had resigned to a life alone where she had a good career and job, financial security, help around the house and no drama with enough distance from her ex- husband and his family. Some parts of the divorce was quite bitter and drawn out, and it was a relief when the legalities ended and she could heal properly. Meeting other men romantically hadn't happened except a couple of flings where she had wanted to have fun but the sex was as disappointing as with her ex, either she was not into it or they didn't know how to satisfy her. A sad realization dawned that she had gone through her most fertile, active years without experiencing the thrill of what she had fantasized about in her head. What was surprising and frustrating was that her drive was higher lately, the single life letting her explore herself a bit more.

Her son K had arrived from the town where he went to business school and she knew he had slowly blossomed into a desirable young man after the awkward teenage years. He had odd interests: listening to old school slow burning tunes, jazz music, ghazals, swaying to it in solitude and reading classics that his generation (Gen Z) normally wouldn't touch with their limited attention span. She had come to like the music wafting through from the living room at a volume that was soothing to her, every time he came home.

He planned to stay for two weeks before going to his father's house and returning eventually for a hectic semester. Swati was thankful that the signs of separation had started to appear when he was ending his teen years. That is when when he started to notice the fights and cracks, and he had enough maturity to handle it well. He brought with him some chaos and unruliness, getting up late and going out late in the evening to meet his friends, and lapping up any food items he could get his hands on. He was twenty two years of age and had that sort of lankiness and glow of a man approaching full adulthood, yet he had a boyish quality about him still. Swati still saw him as her boy.

On the third day of his stay, he dusted off and took his vinyl player out late evening and played an Ella Fitzgerald tune. Swati loved that song, and sat on the couch, listening and a bit lost. K said something out of the blue "Ma, remember how Dad used to occasionally want to dance with you years ago when it was time for me to sleep. What songs would be play?"

Swati dismissed off the question "He did not have much rhythm in his body. Those songs don't matter, I don't want to think about or hear those"

K muttered - "My songs are better for that sort of thing anyway" and turned away to play another record...

The next day, K set the same scene, playing an old crooning jazz standard while reading a book. Swati, tired after her work, joined him in the adjoining sofa with her laptop. As he got up to change the LP, he passed by her. And Swati caught a glimpse of his grey sweat pants, and thought to herself he seemed to be fitting it rather well. She looked at his butt, not a lot men are blessed with a shapely tush that a woman can admire. After realizing her mind went to dicks and shapes and sizes, she admonished herself about the fact that it was her son that triggered that thought. What was wrong with her?

K said "Ma, dance with me?" playfully.

Swati laughed and dismissed it off, focusing on her laptop and after a while said "Let me just rest my old legs and just enjoy your music."

The next day was Friday and K played a song that dispersed the tension for Swati after a mother of a week, and she felt sprightly and got her tea and watched him absent-mindedly dawdle through the room. He caught her eye and came to her and reached out with one hand. Swati took the offer spontaneously and surprised herself, because she had been so uptight lately, lacking any sense of fun.

It was a slow burning romantic song, and K held her and they swayed to it. They maintained a distance, he was rather adept at handling her and moving with her in sync. She saw her son had a genuine smile on his face began to lose some inhibition, and got lost in the song and herself. Some time had passed, she wouldn't have noticed the song had changed but she did notice when K took the liberty of coming closer and holding her and moving her arms around him. She thought this may be awkward and she would tap out. But she waited and gave in to his embrace.

She felt sensations she had forgotten about, being close to a body, feeling the warmth, smelling the musky masculine scent, and his breath on her made her slightly giddy. They danced together for a song and she had to step away, he looked into her eyes and she looked a bit flushed. Swati retired to her room a bit abruptly.

She felt a odd rush of sadness and confusion, at the connection she craved and why she felt oddly alive at the arms of her boy. She resolved to treat it matter-of-factly if it ever came up again.

The next two days she had work and meetings, and other events to catch up on. She remembered the dance on a couple of occasions with both a tingle of excitement and apprehension, and didn't allow herself to think too much of it.

That evening she was cozying up on the couch and lying with a book, when K sat beside her and affectionately told her about how he missed her chicken curry with rice, and if she'd make it before he left. She said how could she not, and he seemed happy and met her eyes. He challenged her to a dance routine he'd seen on the internet. He showed her the video, it was some kind of waltz. Looking at the final move, it was the clincher where the man had to guide and break the fall of the woman. She smirked and told him they couldn't possibly pull that off, K responded "Trust me ma"

He had such an earnest, vulnerable look in his eyes. She reluctantly got up and joined him. It was an orchestral sort of song and he held her hips. Swati was conscious as she had a top on which was a bit low necked for her liking, and she felt a bit exposed. He guided her and they took some time to hit their stride. She started feeling safe and comfortable, aware that she was enjoying this very much. A couple of times as she grazed past him, she could feel something. A woman always knows if a man's cock is attentive, she bit her lower lip and wondered what was going through him. Could he be into an old lady like herself or was she imagining things? As he ended the routine, he took the reins and safely handled her as she fell into his arms. She caught him entranced by her ample cleavage for a moment. Did he choose this dance and final move to position her like that? And where the hell did he learn to dance like a pro?

On the last day before K's flight, Swati was stepping out for an errand run when he asked her about dinner and what time she was coming back. Swati saw a look of anticipation and wondered why he hadn't made any plan with his friends. She gave a vague reply before jetting off, resolving that they spend a quiet dinner, cause she was confused and did not want to confront the funny feelings. She wanted to see if he'd coax her or was she imagining things. She came back pretty late and they ate silently. She changed into a regal night dress, and surely enough, the music started. The song he chose was a sensual one. As she stepped into the living room, he sat beside her.

K began "Ma I've been wondering how you've been getting on after the divorce. I want to help in any way I can, soothe your worries."

They talked for a while. Swati found that her son was a good listener, and let her talk, asking the right questions that made her open up to him. After a while, there was silence and his mother seemed pensive. K was deflated since all the serious talk had led to her being zoned out, and it could be a dampener on his plans to be close to her again. He stepped away to the shelves and appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows and exclaimed "Since when do we drink together, stop it!"

K replied "Let today be the start of this ritual, let's make a tradition out of it? Can't stand some of the college dudes I drink with, they make an obnoxious racket and talk trash."

Swati told herself maybe this would be some quality mother son time, and they could bond some more. She loved wine and soon with his witty conversation and charm, she was laughing in spite of herself. There was subtle teasing and after a while, this felt like a date she wished for in the few instances meeting men. She filled both the glasses again, and when they both were happily buzzing, K asked her if he could have the pleasure of a dance.

Was it the wine or his smell or his going away imminently she didn't know, she started to let go of herself in his arms. K made a remark of how beautiful she looked in the dim light, and how he was being extra careful to handle her with utmost care, teasing her "Gotta be careful of the territory my hands explore."

She retorted quickly "Stay within limits, mister. But then if you don't cross the line, how will you know?"

He did not react, and Swati thought he was a bit slow. He moved his hands holding her back lower with trepidation. Swati noticed he stopped right around her hips. After waiting for a while, she thought she'd give him a scare and sternly said "Is this what you want?" and guided his hands lower until he had a handful of her butt, followed by her laughing.

K could not believe it, his mother had a gorgeous, fat behind he had been obsessed with. He instinctively gave it a squeeze and both of them breathed heavily, someone moaned but who? It did not matter. Something had been breached. And she wrapped her hand around him and both of them swayed to the music, utterly in rapture.

They gave each other some space and looked at each other, Swati hadn't felt such a strong charge running through her, where her body was so receptive to touch it scared her. It was at that moment when the music beat changed, he deftly pushed her away and spun her around and then reeled her in with her back towards him. Swati was swept away in the moment, and two things happened -- she felt her ass hit his crotch and the heat and hardness that lay against her. Then he wrapped a hand against her stomach and with the other hand put her hair to one side and kissed her beside her neck. That put her in a space where she had no control. The next time he did that, she arched her back and felt his dick rub against her. They both started grinding and rubbing for a hot minute or two until she heard him breathing frantically. A kind of a repressed moan turned guttural next to her ears. This was the hottest thing she had ever heard. Then he cooled down and his chin resting against her collar. Swati was soaking wet and very horny, had she made her son cum?

She took a step forward and was going to rush out of the room. That was the deciding moment when she had to do what was wise, step away and control her urges. Something stopped her, maybe a sort of insanity. She found herself walking to her son who had turned around and stood near the music shelf, hiding his shame. She found herself walking to him until she was able to breathe into the nape of his neck, K muttered "Sorry, ma".

K did not know what to do, he was like a deer caught in the headlights, and he turned around and they looked at each other. After a few seconds, Swati replied- "It is okay, beta (son). Don't be embarrassed" and turned to leave. K held her arm suddenly which took her by surprise. She looked at him and then his lips, not realizing he was looking at hers. And then mother and son kissed with a longing that was tender, passionate, scalding all at the same time.

To be continued...